


paper cups and coffee shop dates

by am doing a breakthrough science (acceptnosubstitutes)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oh No! Only One Bed, Shennigans, terrible puns, we have an eclectic cast and a ridiculous plot on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28606242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acceptnosubstitutes/pseuds/am%20doing%20a%20breakthrough%20science
Summary: Azem manages to drag caffeine addicted roommate, Emet, out to the gym on the pains he agrees to stop by the coffee shop afterwards. It's not Azem's fault Emet's best friend is cute, friendly, and takes pity on a fellow poor college student - agreeing to pose as his fake boyfriend for a steep gym membership discount.Shenanigans ensue. Azem may even learn to enjoy coffee. But probably not.
Relationships: Azem/Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Azem/Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Azem/Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Pashtarot/Nabriales (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Bookclub Top Trope Challenge (January 2021)





	1. Chapter One

The way Emet trudges into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door after giving him a death glare, you'd think Azem confused his doric order with his ionic again. And not just asked him to go workout.

Considering the fact Emet looks like a hunched over beanpole with arms and legs, Azem thinks he could stand to put on a little more muscle. 

His roommate and friend closes the fridge. Shuffles over to the table carrying, much to Azem's aghast horror, day old takeout coffee and half a cold jelly donut wrapped up in wax paper.

"You left that in our fridge?"

Emet raises an eyebrow, taking a very pointed bite of said donut. Licks his lips clean of errant raspberry filling.

Azem wrinkles his nose.

"Do you know how much sugar is in one of those things?"

"Not enough," his roommate mumbles, mouth full of another bite as he turns to search for a clean mug, "to deal with your nagging this early."

Emet leaves behind his coffee and donut in his search, the former of which Azem picks up. 

Flowy, elegant cursive script scrawls across the paper cup. And underneath that printed graphic of a large, steaming cup of coffee and spoon. Flitting above the handle of the spoon is some cartoonish, red feathered bird, wings spread complete with a speech bubble containing the single phrase "wark!"

"Grind House," Azem reads dubiously, "this is a coffee shop? Sounds like a snuff film. What kind of coffee shop has a bird as a mascot?"

"The eclectic kind."

Azem snorts, turning the cup around. Emet's name is written on the back in purple ink. Beautiful penmanship and the tail of the 't' loops up into a heart. He glances up at Emet's back, still searching for his favorite mug. The one he denies is his favorite yet always uses even when more sensible ones are clean.

It's the novelty mug Azem got him as a souvenir from some museum or another, basic white with a pickle for a handle and "I'm a big dill" written across the front.

"Does someone have a crush on you?"

Emet's head pops out of the cupboard, golden brown eyes catching and narrowing on the cup in his hands.

"Stop being nosy," he grouses, stalking over with his mug.

Azem chuckles, dancing around the table out of reach.

"Wait, wait! What's this? 'I was arguing with a construction worker. We were getting bogged down in cementics.' Is that supposed to be a joke?"

Emet scowls, snatching the cup out of his hands. Pours its contents into the pickle mug, shuffling over to the microwave.

"It's a pun, Azem," he says dryly, "though I'm hardly surprised it sails over your muscle bound head."

"Yeah, well, whatever it is, coffee and a donut isn't a healthy breakfast. How do you make it through your ten am like that?"

Emet jerks a thumb at the microwave. Caffeine. Of course. Azem rolls his eyes, retrieving the soy milk and strawberries from the fridge to start his own breakfast.

Both plastic canisters of white sugar and rolled oats, a banana, and finally the vanilla extract from the cupboard above the sink.

"Just saying, buddy," Azem, rattling around in a drawer for measuring cups, "someone at that shop knows your major. And _I_ know for a fact you don't talk to people willingly, Mr. Grumpy, so spill."

Emet watches him carefully measure out half a cup of oats, add it and the milk to the blender and set it to grind. From his seat at the table he sips his coffee imperiously.

"I have friends, Azem. You, for some reason."

Azem flicks a slice of banana at him. It barely makes it across the table, glancing his elbow, but Emet still picks it up and shrugs, plopping it in his mouth.

Absolutely horrifying. Azem turns away in disgust to cut up strawberries.

"Tell me again about this gym for which you woke me up at such a godforsaken hour."

Azem looks up at the clock on the wall to his right, then glances over his shoulder at him. Adds strawberries and extract to the blender, followed by the sliced banana when he turns back around.

"It's nine am, Emet."

His roommate nods gravely.

"And I don't have classes until two today," he replies archly, polishing off the last of his donut. "Some of us don't wake up at the crack of dawn, actually."

"You can sleep when you're dead," Azem says. 

Watches the blender until it whirs to a stop and then deposits its pink, creamy contents into a clean shaker bottle sans mixer.

Emet groans. "God. You sounded just like him, right there." He continues, half into his coffee and mostly to himself, "though you're just annoyingly diurnal. He simply likes to fuck with me."

Oh? Azem raises an eyebrow, turning a smirk on his unsuspecting roommate.

"Emet!" He draws out the last vowel ridiculously long, immediately attracting suspicion. "You're fucking someone and you didn't even tell me? I'm hurt. Wounded! May never recover! I thought we shared everything?"

Halfway between taking another drink of coffee and swallowing it, Emet looks up at him so startled by the accusation he promptly chokes on the liquid instead. Spends a minute or two hacking and coughing until he clears his airway.

"Evil incarnate," he says, glaring at grinning Azem. "He's a _friend_. If you must pry, let us swing by the shop after I regret this workout. I fear I'll regret introducing you even more, but if it shall cease your endless pestering."

"You just want more caffeine. That stuff will kill you, you know." 

Emet taps the rim of his mug. "Life is killing me, my dear. Caffeine makes it slightly more bearable."

Azem sighs, bringing his smoothie over and sitting at the table.

"Fine. But you're not getting me to try that awful drink again. I don't care how much milk or sugar they put in it, coffee is bitter and disgusting."

Azem leans down and roots around in his backpack for the crumpled flyer. Smooths it out on the table and slides it over.

A very colorful flyer, part of the reason it caught his eye poking out of the university newspaper in the first place. Bright and fresh. Everything about the advertisement is loud, from the name of the place - GOLD! GYM, in blocky, bold letters - to the man whom Azem figures is the proprietor of the place. 

An older gentleman dressed in what appears to be white butler esque, concierge attire, white rose pinned to his lapel, black shorts and shoes. He's incredibly muscled surely, for his age, wearing rose colored shades. Appears to be in the middle of some sort of dance on the flyer. Arms bent, palms flat and spread, balancing on one leg with the other bent at the knee. 

By his side are printed a series of pictures and blocks of text outlining the number of services the gym offers. Weight lifting, rowing machines, the usual take but what caught Azem's eye in particular - the glossy photo of a full on rock climbing wall.

Emet looks up from his perusal of the advertisement, expression flat.

"This is a mess," he proclaims.

Azem folds the paper back up and stores it in his bag.

"You agreed," he says, "are you going back on your word?"

Emet makes a face. Tilts back the rest of his coffee and gets up to deposit his mug in the sink. As he's running water to wash up, Azem notices the paper coffee cup seems to be getting the same treatment.

Does he actually keep those things? And Azem is supposed to believe this coffee shop mate is just friends, huh?

Hmm. Time to be more nosy than usual.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coffee shop au finally arrives at coffee shop! Also, they probably should wear name tags but hey, they don't. Props if you can figure out who Hyth's coworkers are before I reveal them.

The weather outside is sunny and clear, not a cloud in sight. Perfect way to start the day, get the blood pumping, with a decent spurt of exercise. At least Azem thinks so. Emet spends the entire trip to the gym grumbling about something or another. 

"Thought caffeine was supposed to improve your mood."

Said commentary redirects with a focus about Azem himself. From being a morning person (an affront to common human decency) to the bright shades of his wardrobe (primary colors, Azem? did you purchase your wardrobe in a crayon box?) and beyond. 

"Sometimes," Azem comments mildly, turning down the street toward the gym, "I do wonder why we're roommates."

"No one else would room with either of us," Emet answers, easily enough.

Ah. There really should be stronger reasoning than that, but once you've bestowed the honorary novelty knickknack Azem supposes you're stuck with the guy. And he did so get a kick out of the little screaming goat Emet gifted him in return for the pickle mug. It sits on Azem's desk in their apartment to this day, waiting to unleash hell on anyone unwary enough to squeeze it.

The same man on the flyer waits outside the gym's entrance, arms folded, observing a long queue awaiting judgement. Line consists of an assortment of gender, age, physical fitness levels and varying degrees of impatience.

Azem leans up on his tiptoes but can't quite see what all the fuss is about. He shrugs. "Guess we join them."

Presumably some people enter the gym. Fewer folks depart than have a place in the line, but the fact there's a line in the first place is curious. 

Emet follows his train of thought, moving along with Azem as the line thins. 

"Five star rating, or what?" Scoffs to himself, shaking his head. "Not with that gaudy advertisement."

"Gaudy? Nay, my good man," booms a boisterously jolly voice, remarkably close to their ears, "surely you jest! For the work of a Manderville gentleman suffers no error in speech nor print in endeavoring to establish an honest rapport with our fellow man!"

As one, both Azem and Emet turn their heads ever so slightly. Uncomfortably close, the man from the flyer peers down upon them, hands on his hips. Dressed the same down to his ridiculous attire, sans sunglasses, which perch jauntily in his white hair.

They try their level best not to jump out of their skin.

"Ah, ha, hello," tries Azem, taking a step back. "You're -"

"Godbert Manderville, at your service!" 

Azem tentatively sticks an arm out, immediately regretting the decision. Godbert takes firm grasp of his hand. Near rattles his arm out of its socket.

"Proprietor of GOLD! GYM," says Godbert, "purveyor of the finest muscle enhancing machinery west side of town. Now then, good sir, shall we?"

Azem blinks. Emet is no help, shrugging one shoulder and looking generally bored with both of them already. Which he continues through Godbert squaring his stance, lowering his shoulders. And swinging his arms back and forth?

Emet's expression sours. "You are _joking_."

But no, there he goes, reflecting the flyer now and hopping to and fro. Some sort of dance?

"Join me!" Godbert cries, furiously tussling his fists first to the right. Then to the left.

He repeats the earlier steps again and again. Seems simple enough. Azem waits until Godbert turns around again, ignoring a pointed, exasperated sigh, and joins in. If you can't beat them, join them.

"Verily good! But you were not drawn here by some coincidence, were you? No, you came in search of this gym and the very heights of peak physical fitness! Why else would you gyrate your hips in such a gentlemanly fashion, if not that?"

Godbert's...a little odd, Azem will admit. Hears Emet mutter something about "Gyrating hips? Is he serious?" behind him. But that rock climbing wall still lingers in his mind. From its photo and the size of the gym itself, it can't be the biggest wall ever but built in enough angles and vertical leaps to be a few days decent challenge. Besides the fact GOLD! is reasonably closer to uni than his current gym. It has a lot in its favor.

And above all? Membership discount. When you're a poor broke college student, that word always stands out. Azem zeroed in on that fine print like a terrier salivating for a juicy cut of prime steak.

Until he realizes Godbert fixes an expectant stare on Emet, reassuming his stance. Ah, shit. No way in hell is this going to end well.

"Yeah," Emet drawls. He ignores Azem's desperate signals to just go with it, _this once_. "I'm not engaging in that jolly mess. Hard pass."

Ass. 

"Ha. Ha ha ha _ha_ ," Azem smiles weakly, "just listen to him! My boyfriend. What a killjoy."

" _What_."

If looks could kill, Emet would be burning a hole through his skull. Right now. Azem takes great pleasure, therefore, treading heavily on the tip of his shoe.

Interjects over his muttered grumbling, "Yes, we're here about the gym. Uh, your flyer mentioned something about a couple's discount?"

Again, Godbert fixes his critical gaze upon Emet. Looks him up and down in a long, sweeping pass. Azem has the strangest desire to get between the two of them. Silly. He's shorter than his roommate, and has some serious doubts about taking Godbert in a fight. Even his muscles have muscles.

Godbert shakes his head, pointing at a sign posted to the front of the gym. Azem must've missed it in all the excitement.

In horribly kerned, blocky black capitalized letters: NO ROOMMATES. MUST BE IN REAL RELATIONSHIP.

Azem squints. "That's a dumb rule."

* * *

Seated at the coffee shop fifteen minutes later, highly reluctantly Azem might add, he crosses his arms at the wooden table. 

"Look it's a dumb rule, and I stand by everything I said."

The Grind House meets at some crossroads between rustic and modern, structured mostly out of stonework and brick. Elements of reclaimed wood in the tables and chairs soften by plush rugs and pillows in neutral colors: tans, browns, creams, and greens. A lot of greenery abounds the decor. Most if not all actual living plants. Azem spies an employee with ridiculously fluffy, dandelion blonde hair meticulously spritzing several of them.

One wall is completely dedicated to a giant chalkboard upon which inscribes the shop's many offerings. Same handwriting that graced Emet's coffee cup sprawls across its breadth accompanied with several doodles of the same avian mascot cavorting around cheerfully. 

Instrumental music lends a mellow tone to the whole establishment.

Emet fixes him a flat stare. "Are we to be boyfriends, then?" 

Okay, everything except that. Azem waves him off.

"It was for a good cause! Oh, quit giving me that look you bother. I said I'll pay already." He sighs. "Gil I don't really have, but whatever."

Azem stops paying attention to the goings on, cheek in the palm of his hand staring out the window. Traffic's starting to pick up outside. What a terrible morning. He's almost of a mind to skip his first class. Sulk. And he loves maths. 

Someone stops by their table, offloading something and catching Azem's attention.

Not dandelion employee, or the edgy one with a half-mohawk running the counter, but a third altogether. Smiling at Emet. Who, to Azem's raised eyebrow, seems to be drowning a faint blush in his steaming hot coffee.

"You'll burn your tongue if you don't let it cool, dear," comments said employee. 

Azem shifts his hand, mouthing the word 'dear?' at his roommate. Who ignores him. Well, well. Mysterious punny coffee shop mate?

He takes another look at the employee. He's really absurdly tall. At least six feet, and looks like he never actually grew into it fully. But lean muscled.

Blonde, like dandelion, though so platinum his hair shines almost silver, lengthily braided over one shoulder. Seafoam green eyes. Has a soft, kind face. Open. 

Is this Emet's type? 

None of the employees have name tags on the red aprons they wear over casual business wear. Neither Emet nor his friend seem keen to offer Azem it either. Still caught up in idle conversation about the shop, goings on at university it seems the employee also attends, it takes Emet a moment to remember Azem is, in fact, even still there.

"Ah, and now the calamitous encounter. Hyth, this is my roommate. Azem, Hythlodaeus."

What a weird name. Is Azem's first thought. Unkind, really. Their university attracts all sorts of foreign students and really, his mother raised him better than that.

His second thought takes a moment to catch up to his brain. But when it does, he straightens up and blinks. Cocks his head.

"Wait, wait. What? Who? The guy who quit your major explosively last year? The guy you keep complaining professor Baelsar still rants about excessively? That _Hyth_? Let me shake your hand man, you're a fucking legend." 

Emet sighs, drinking more coffee. "Would you like his autograph too?"

Hythlodaeus just laughs, letting Azem vigorously shake his hand. Seems absolutely delighted to hear he's still driving his old professor up a wall long after he departed.

"Call me Hyth," he tells Azem, grinning, "new age parents, terrible naming conventions."

"Hythlo," half-mohawk calls across the room, "little help, love?"

There's a line starting to form at the counter.

"Ah, duty calls. Tell you the whole story sometime, Emet's roommate."

Hyth leaves their table with a wink and a bounce to his step, greeting the first customer he comes across with enthusiasm. Even sounds genuine.

Emet waves a hand in his direction. "See what I mean? Perky pair of peas in a pod, you two."

Azem has caught on to his tells by now though, and there's something unerringly fond about the way brown eyes track Hyth around the shop. Emet's not at all subtle about it.

Perhaps Azem will look forward to getting to know Hyth better, indeed.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steadily plodding away at this, but work is bitch and so is my own attention span lmao

Over the course of the next few weeks, Azem finds himself dropping by the Grind House frequently. It seems staffed by two other employees besides Hyth and the others Azem realizes quite suddenly he's still referring to by physical attribute. Someone really ought to suggest name tags, honestly. 

But it's easy enough to structure those visits to coincidentally coincide with Hyth's work schedule. Oh, and would you look at that, there's Azem's roommate at his usual table too. What're the odds? Emet gives him a narrowed eyed, furrowed brow, frowny face. Clearly broadcasting "I know you're up to something and I _will_ learn what it is'' the first few times Azem makes a surprise appearance. Novelty wears off quickly, however, and it helps Emet typically gets seriously distracted whenever Hyth's nearby. 

Shredding napkins, nervous foot tapping, playing with the rim of empty coffee cups distracted. It's frankly second hand embarrassment seeing it play out. Azem even watches Hyth's co-workers basically endure the same ridiculousness from the opposite end.

He's too far away to hear what half-mohawk says to Hyth while he's making Emet's usual coffee one afternoon. But that smirk, the friendly nudge from the bar toward their table speaks volumes. More clearly still at one point dandelion scrawls out the words "phone number" on a pad of paper, turning it just as Hyth looks up from their table. Underlined, punctuated with three exclamation marks, and a smiley face to boot.

Hyth stares at him. Gets an arched eyebrow in return, a finger pointing very insistently at the message. He turns to another table entirely and his co-workers share an eye roll behind his back.

Familiar song and dance. Azem prods him about it when he's at the shop by himself one afternoon, nursing an iced tea.

"So," he asks, tapping his pencil against his open maths textbook, "how do you know Emet?"

Hyth continues wiping down tables but chats amicably with him.

"We met in physics, I think, but shared most classes after that." Tosses a grin over his shoulder. "Kinda ran laps around the rest of them, so guess that made us class rivals."

Azem snorts. "You two? Really."

"Oh, yes. Emet has a competitive streak. Didn't like to lose. Or be shown up. At least at first. I like to think my charm eventually won him over."

Something on Azem's face must show his patent disbelief because Hyth turns around with a particular twinkle in his eyes speaking of great amusement.

"Oh, all right spoilsport. I got on his nerves. Purposely. Intentionally. He's simply so easy to fluster, you see? And don't you dare tell him," Hyth says, leaning in somewhat close despite the fact Emet's in classes at the moment, "I liked watching him blush. He tries to act all calm and collected but push the right buttons and. Heh."

Azem learns they simply gravitated toward each other. Rivalry, irritation turning to reluctant, grudging admiration and more slowly, an actual friendship. The bane of their professors' nightmares naturally. Two naturally erudite, smartass students they could barely keep a handle on when they were an inch away from strangling each other. Friendship must've been another hell entirely.

"And how about you?" Hyth asks him, later on his break. "Emet never mentioned having a roommate."

Oh, that. Azem keeps marking down answers to tomorrow's homework. 

"Not sure what he did, but Emet has an, uh, reputation? Around the student union? 'Difficult to live with,' and 'a pretentious arse' featured prominently from anyone I asked but," and Azem shrugs, "I needed a room."

"Transferred in late. Emet was the only student with an opening at the time. Like to think my charm grew on him too."

That garners a widening of Hyth's smile. Azem absently notes it has a certain charm. Must be why Emet likes it so much.

"Tad bit of a bastard," Hyth admits, with that smile, "but our bastard."

Azem doesn't even question him. He simply nods. Emet's certainly a particular type of bastard for sure. Doesn't play well with others, hardly able to hold a conversation without some form of biting, acerbic wit, _and_ he absolutely refused one silly little dance. The nerve!

But, he reflects, he does come with his recommendations. And to be perfectly honest, it's his roommate's own damn fault Azem's sharing them with his increasingly delighted crush in just retribution.

"Sometimes," Azem says, lowering his voice confidentially, "before he has his morning caffeine, yeah? He's downright _cuddly_. So occasionally, I'll start a brew just to see if he'll sleepily hug me or not."

Hyth hides his grin in the curve of his fist, twisting away to check on the front counter.

"If you don't comment on it, but just sort of sit down near him? He'll let you flop all over him. Grouch and grumble till he's blue in the face, but he won't make you move."

Azem enjoys the laughter this produces. Infectiously cheerful, and sunlight shining in from the nearby window casts across Hyth's profile in such a way that makes him pause. Blink. Momentarily lose his train of thought.

Azem shakes his head. How strange.

The days start to blend together after that. He's rather sure he's a boring customer, ordering the same drink - a simple, small iced tea - every time he comes in. It's not the most expensive item on the menu, but Azem feels guilty taking up one of the Grind House's tables without buying anything while he...well, while he what, exactly?

Enjoys its employees' company? Azem makes a face. That's weird, isn't it. He's being weird. Hyth is Emet's friend. 

Maybe. Maybe he thinks it's weird his friend's roommate keeps showing up at his place of work.

Oh god. What if Hyth thinks Azem's some kind of weirdass creep? He's just beginning to sweat over the possibility when someone sets a tea down in front of him.

Azem looks up to find the man in question looking at him in mild concern.

"All right over here? It looks like you just swallowed a fish." He smiles gently, nudging the cup in Azem's direction. "And since we don't serve seafood, that's impressive."

He walks away before Azem's brain catches up to him, muddling through his conflicting, worried thoughts he's stalking the poor bastard in between turning the proffered cup around in his hands.

"Wait a minute. I didn't even order, yet? Or pay!"

Hyth chuckles, focusing on a forming line of customers, but tosses over his shoulder before he gets too far out of range, "Consider it on the house. My treat."

Huh. That's...nice. And written on the back of his tea, in orange sharpie this time, a smiley face stylized sun accenting Azem's name.

Scribbled underneath reads out: What's the difference between weather and climate? You can't weather a tree, but you can climate!

Since when did Hyth know his major too?

* * *

There's only one good thing about how late Emet sleeps. And therefore spends a god awful long time hogging all the hot water during a "quick" shower. If Azem cooks up a little extra of his usual breakfast he can cut half the sugar out of his roommate's morning rush without any snappy comeback. And they share a companionable meal at the table. Azem even endures brewing Emet's dark, bitter swill. The smell of ground espresso beans almost overtaking much more appetizing sausage and orange slices.

"Have you been talking about me with Hyth?"

Emet pauses in attempting to wrangle slippery, syrup doused links on his fork.

"Maybe? His one friend, the," waves the fork about and nearly flings a sausage link at the wall, "the blonde one. What's his name again? Ash? Hmm, not quite. Ah, his major. Astrophysics."

Astrophysics? The amount of schooling Azem imagines dandelion must be looking at, both college and post graduate makes his head hurt. And that's considering he's already dipping his toes looking into what graduate schools offer the best degrees in climatology. A decision Azem won't need to make still years down the road.

"And he's working a job on the side? Is he crazy?"

Emet shrugs. "I know he works the least. His roommates are both science types. Blondie's just the most similar to yours. The asshole's a chemist."

Azem assumes he means the dark haired young man usually stuck behind the counter. Not that Azem's spoken to either of them, and Emet hates most people, but that sounds somewhat vicious.

"He's a playboy. You know the type. Uses people for a good time, moves onto the next. "

Azem watches his roommate cut his sausage links into rough, uneven chunks. Then dice them further. Any more cutting and he'll end up with meat paste.

"Is this about Hyth?" 

"You keep asking about him," Emet says, deliberately not answering, "why?"

Ah. It absolutely is about Hyth. What in the world has Emet gotten himself into now? Some weird love triangle? 

"He's the only friend you've ever introduced to me, man. Sue a guy for being curious. Sheesh."

Conversation stalls through the rest of breakfast, the quiet clink of utensils scraping against cheap ceramic. It's not until Azem gets up to deposit his dish in the sink, dump orange peel in the trash, that Emet leans back in his chair and sighs.

"Sorry," he mutters, picking up his bag, "the guy just gets to me. Both of them do, but you know Hyth. His roommate has none of his...everything."

He's gone by the time Azem turns around, front door opening and closing on the sound of retreating footsteps.


	4. Chapter Four

There's no rhyme or reason why Azem finds himself at the coffee shop anymore. He's satisfied his curiosity about Hyth, generally speaking, and honestly decaf tea was never one of his favorite beverages. He always preferred grape juice.

It's a great place for people watching while he pursues his studies, however.

Many familiar faces stand out to Azem. Several professors, even. Professor La Brea, an older, stern looking blonde man Azem's seen around campus is a particular regular. Has little idea what he lectures, except it's ridiculously complex and frequently the cause of student headaches. La Brea's even become meme worthy in some corners of the university.

Does he sleep? Is he even human? Who knows. The man's a frequent presence in multi-disciplines and ever available at seemingly random office hours.

Azem certainly sees a normal, if tired, man glance up when Hyth's shadow falls over his open newspaper. Thin smile, but it reaches his eyes. He does tilt his head at the coffee placed in front of him. The latte and plump, lightly sugar dusted blueberry muffin plated on a small saucer set across the empty seat at the other end of the table. 

Not confused for long, however, the chime at the door admitting a woman dressed all in black. She slips her umbrella in the stand by the door, hood falling back and shaking out blue tinted hair. Professor Yorhm, then, of award winning poetry fame. 

"Consider it all on me," Hyth tells the other man. Winks at him just as Yorhm catches sight of them and makes her way over.

La Brea fixes him a faintly exasperated expression. 

"You are a simply precocious young man," he murmurs, nodding his head, "but thank you."

Which makes it all the more amusing Azem finds Hyth staring at their table after they've left. Under the edge of the saucer, enough gil to cover the cost of both bills and generous tip besides. And the napkin folded neatly on top of the plate, an imprint of a woman's lips in electric blue lipstick.

Engineering enthusiasts in goggles and protective gear, covered in soot and sometimes a minor coating of grease catch Azem's attention too. They pour through and argue over complicated schematics sprawled across the breadth of their table. Stay well through many an afternoon, kept supplied in caffeine and croissants.

Two very tall gentlemen stop by one day. One with refined, stylized raven locks and impeccable blazer, black slacks. He carries on polite conversation with dandelion, the first time Azem's seen him in that week, while his companion slumps over the counter on a bar stool. Dressed far less presentable - crumpled hoodie, hood drawn up over his head, blue jeans, and tattered trainers - also glaring at half-mohawk's saucy grin behind the counter. 

The order the refined gentleman walks out with drips in so much birch syrup Azem finds himself mildly horrified. That anyone would order something stinking so strongly of sugar and that any decent barista would go through with the monstrosity.

How they get back around on the subject is a mystery. Perhaps it's Emet complaining about one of Baelsar's tirades again, while Hyth douses the coffee shop in a fair dose of red, pink, and white. Decorations, streamers, even little packets of those chalky conversation hearts show up at every table.

"Function and form," Hyth says, like he's reciting from a textbook, or another person, "The strong rise up to rule over the weak. Reflected in building structural codes across time periods and, and, and - oh, all that rot."

Emet chuckles, but gives no commentary, watching him sweep about the shop trailed by ropes of heart strings.

"You simply _suggest_ not everything need be about purpose this, streamlined that. Practically for its own sake becomes a prison. Rigidity, fixed things have no flexibility. No flair, no creative _spin_. 

"I'm just saying, there's no reason we shouldn't take a little more personality to modern architecture."

Emet informs Azem, dryly, what Hyth _isn't_ saying and what he actually did was play devil's advocate so well and so to the letter that Baelsar eventually flipped his shit. Went on a week long lecture ostensibly aimed at the subjectivity of taste and its secondary priority to function. In what was clearly meant to be a statement at a singular, particularly troublesome student. Who never even bothered to show up to drop out of class.

If his class thought their professor lost it the first time Hyth set him off, this blatant lack of respect sent him into his most legendary tirade. 

"Oh, I hear it was a whole thing," Hyth sounds terribly pleased with himself, "the Dean involved and _everything_. Over little old me."

All Azem, and likely anyone outside that class, knew of the entire affair was professor Baelsar's infamous, booming voice shouting "that was not my intention!" echoing down the corridor from behind the Dean's closed office door.

"This smiling gremlin," says Emet, offering said fiend mulish glare, "switches over business entirely. Not even a goodbye."

Hyth playfully muses his hair, sliding his coffee and raspberry donut in front of him as penance.

"Aww, you do care! Chin up, dear, it's no one's fault but my own where I wander. At least we still have maths, before I transfer."

As it turns out, for all of Eorzean State University's premiere, state of the art STEM programs, risk management doesn't factor in as an offering. Seems like an odd leap from architecture, but Hyth explains his business professors suggested the move, actually. Ironically, as a result of his quarrel with professor Baelsar.

"Apparently, they pay people to see problems. Funny things. Oh, the professionals call it 'risk' but I prefer my version. If you can figure out what probably will go wrong before it does, you can help important people solve future headaches today."

Hyth shrugs, adopting a bit of a self deprecating grin. "Besides, the world of architecture has little need for men like me."

What utter nonsense. Azem means to tell him too, only someone else beats him first.

"Who cares for all the rest? I need you."

Emet surprises even himself with this outburst, coloring pink under the full force of both their stares. He clears his throat. Suddenly very invested in poking at the remains of his donut.

"Oh! That reminds me. Numbers. I need your phone numbers. How else am I going to keep in contact with the both of you?"

They exchange them, but something bugs Azem. 

"You two don't already have each other's digits?" If he seems skeptical, it's because he is. What kind of friends don't keep each other on call? Azem has Emet's number, and they live together.

Which leads to awkward fumbling and several interruptions as business picks up and Hyth has to help his swamped coworkers.

Azem stares at his roommate in some disbelief.

"One of your very few friends," he says, leaning across the table, "and you don't even ask him for that? What the hell, man?"

Emet flicks bits of his crumbs at him.

"Never needed it! I saw him half a dozen times every day. If ever we desired each other's company, " he shrugs helplessly, "out of it, we simply found each other."

Azem wrinkles his nose. Now he's hardly one for the holiday, but they're surrounded by cheerful garlands of brightly colored tissue, outpourings of love platonic and otherwise decorating even this coffee shop from grounds to bottoms. And even he's offended at Emet's simple utilitarianism. Where's the effort? The heart? Where's the...

"How is that romantic at all?!"

"Are you still on _that_? Read my lips, Azem, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Oh, yeah? So, so I just go up to him -"

A scoff. 

"Don't you make that face at me, Emet, I'll ask Hyth, just _watch_ me!"

"Ask me what?"

It's this moment, in the long run, Azem will look back on and think 'ah, this is where it really started," but in the moment he turns on his tall friend, desperately grabbing his hands close.

"Hey, look. I know this sounds weird," Azem's encouraging smile only increases Hyth's bemusement, green eyes seeking out Emet around Azem, "but you're cute and I'm poor. Wanna be fake boyfriends so I can get swole at the swank gym downtown?"

"That's - that's what you're asking -" this from Emet, absolutely incredulous.

As pitches go, it needs some work. As proposals go, Hyth cocks his head to the side and blinks at him. Then bends over, wheezing, absolutely howling with laughter. 

Well. Azem didn't think it was _that_ funny.

The rest of the patrons give him a wide berth, staring and whispering amongst themselves. If dandelion wasn't busy dealing with customers, he might be making his way over, given the volume.

But Hyth comes back up, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah," he says, grinning widely, "yeah, why the hell not?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It circles back around, finally. I didn't forget about the gym part. Although the next time I try and wrangle three aus in one? Put me out of my misery.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have names! Hallelujah :D Mature rating for language and some sexy gifts (on the safe side) but sadly, no sexy times. I know. I'm terrible.

"Yeah," Hyth says, grinning widely, "yeah, why the hell not?"

"Really?" Given the, well, the laughing, Azem expected outright rejection. "Man, you have no idea how _pumped_ I am right now."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Heh, ah. One condition."

Azem shrugs. After Hyth so easily agreed, how can he say no? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all. Even if Emet, moodily quiet until now, suddenly glances up. Looks alarmed. 

"Nothing that will cost you more than a little time. Patience." Hyth tilts his head, consideringly. "Maybe a strong constitution?"

Now Emet seems fully concerned, shaking his head.

"Azem, don't -"

"Just a few experiments! Absolutely nothing to worry about!"

"Of course," Azem says, giving Emet's wince a weird look, "no problem. What kind of experiments?"

Just as Hyth opens his mouth to explain, a shrill woman's voice interrupts from the condiment bar.

"Look at this! Do you see the problem here? What do they pay you people for, honestly?"

An irate, middle aged woman, holding a coffee in one hand and a half eaten donut wrapped in wax paper in the other. She corners dandelion who takes a step back each push she makes into his space. 

"Ma'am," he says, polite but strained, "I can see the cinnamon shaker needs replacing. Apologies for the inconvenience."

"Don't apologize," she snaps, "fix it!"

It's the first time Azem's seen Hyth's smile slip. Even a little. A moment's blink and it's returned again. 

"I'll be right back."

While he disappears into the back, Azem watches the customer continue to verbally rip into dandelion. Everyone else in the shop studiously looks out the windows, hides behind newspapers, or flat out ignores the abuse entirely. 

Well, fuck that. But Emet grabs hold of his arm, keeping Azem from giving her a piece of his mind.

"Don't," he warns, nodding at the counter, "let them handle it."

Half-mohawk strides through the bar counter's swinging doors, carrying over a steaming cup of coffee. He slides himself between the woman and dandelion just as Hyth returns from the back with more cinnamon.

Offers her the new drink for her old, now lukewarm one.

"Consider it on the house, ma'am," he says, the same perfectly customer service modulated tone and smile as his coworker.

She accepts the new coffee with a huff and considerable bad grace, also snatching the shaker out of Hyth's hands and dumping a large amount into her drink.

"Ill-advised," Emet murmurs.

"Finally, some decent service around here. If only _all_ the help was so trained!"

To his credit, half-mohawk continues to maintain a pleasant expression through her laughter at this dubious joke. But his twitching jaw, and the fact he lets Hyth take the lead through small talk while subtly edging her out the door really speaks volumes.

"Bitch," muttered under his breath after she's gone. That helps too.

While they turn to their coworker, Azem remembers to tug his arm out of Emet's grip.

"What's ill-advised?"

Emet chuckles, pointing again at the condiment bar. Where Azem catches Hyth replacing the shaker the woman used with another, exactly identical one.

"Think of a spice similar enough in color mixed with cinnamon," his roommate says, smirking, "I do so hope she chokes on the first mouthful."

"And entirely decaf!" Hyth returns to their table, grinning merrily. "Now then, the experiments. It's time for another round of what I like to call: culinary innovation."

Emet hums, amused. "Innovation? Is that what you're calling it? You do realize Azem has no idea what he's agreed to?"

The measure of Hyth's smile only increases. He reaches inside his apron pocket and retrieves a pad and pen. Scrawls out a quick few lines, tearing the sheet off for Azem.

"Why, that's what you'll be there for, dear. Don't be late!"

Azem peers down at the sheet while Emet sighs, frowning at Hyth's retreating back. A campus address and a time, about a few days from present. 

Seems easy enough. On the way home, he badgers Emet about the experiments further.

"You're an ass," his roommate declares, without much heat. "He enjoys inflicting liquid pain, in beverage form. Coffee, Azem. You've just agreed to taste test extraordinarily terrifying concoctions of dubious nature."

Oh. Gift horse indeed.

* * *

Coffee. Azem...really dislikes it. Dislikes it black. Dislikes it with milk. Cream, sugar, spices. Name a topping or additive. Won't make a difference.

And yet, here he finds himself seated at the kitchen table in Hyth's apartment. Next to Emet, both watching their host chatter away while checking on balls of dough sizzling away in a vat of hot oil.

Or, at least Azem's watching the donuts form up nice and crisp, if only to avoid thinking about the spread of ingredients across the counter nearby. Especially the small, unmarked bags sitting there.

Emet's attention focuses on Hyth himself. More importantly, what he's wearing. It is, without a doubt, the most frilly, delicate apron Azem's ever seen. Tiered layers of pink and white ruffles. Short. One long, white bow tied at the side.

Every time Hyth bends over Emet turns another shade of scarlet. 

"This?" Hyth does a little spin, making the tail of the bow twirl around his leg. "Heh, heh. Starlight gift. Pash, the fucker. He got me good, but I'll wear it. Brings out my eyes, don't you think?"

"Ah," says Azem, sheepishly rubbing the side of his head, "who is that again?"

Dandelion, as it turns out. And half-mohawk, the one Emet still grimaces to be brought up again, Nabs.

Hyth carefully removes the finished pastries from the oil, turning the stovetop off and allowing everything to cool. 

"And this," he says, digging around in a drawer, "is my oven mitt. Isn't Nabs so thoughtful?"

Sliding it on over one hand, it seems unremarkable. Patterned handkerchief squares in red and black. Until Hyth grins and flips his hand over, revealing the provocatively posed, half-naked cowboy winking up at Azem from the fabric.

"Would tell you what I got them but, ah, that's a little private."

He moves on to the coffee, leaving Azem and Emet glancing at each other and shaking their heads. Best leave it at that.

The drink Hyth places in front of him comes piled high in whipped cream, topped with an artisanal cherry. Azem goes to pick the mug up and pauses.

"Trying to tell me something?"

Hyth takes one look at the text sprawling across its ceramic surface and cackles.

"Hello there, you sexy beast," he teases, still laughing, "sorry for giving you Nabs' gift for Pash. And yes, that is supposed to be a dick in the foam."

Of course. Azem squints, tilts his head and oh yeah, he can sort of make it out. Though one of the balls seems to be deflating already. He takes a small sip. Pauses again.

Coughs.

"Ah, that's. Strong. What do you," more coughing, "what do you call this one?"

Back over by the stove, Hyth inserts donuts with raspberry filling.

"Hmm. Let's see. The hectic majestic."

Right...Azem definitely feels something _hectic_ racing through his veins with each succeeding sip, increasingly aware of the beat of his own heart. How much caffeine is in this thing?

Is he having heart palpitations? Oooh. Maybe, maybe that's enough coffee for one day. Azem sets the mug down and burrows his head into his arms. Waits for the thump in his chest to calm down.

"Is he all right?"

"He'll recover," Emet says dismissively, muffled like he's biting into something.

With friends like these…

* * *

They put off future experiments for another time. But Azem lived up to his side of the bargain. So the next morning a knock comes at their apartment door, revealing a Hyth dressed not to work at the shop but for the gym.

This time the walk to GOLD! goes much faster, occupied not with sarcasm but someone actually interested in listening to Azem ramble on about rock climbing. Which he absolutely hasn't stayed up late researching or anything.

And when it comes time to dance, Hyth doesn't question Godbert's proclivities. Or indeed wait, instead watching Azem's movements and then performing them with mostly grace. Afterwards, steps next to Azem, an arm around his shoulder, charming smile, and just. Stays there. Close enough he's a warm line against Azem's side.

It's nice.

Godbert nods approvingly.

Once inside the gym, Azem's like a kid in a candy store bounding a little up and down on the balls of his feet. Barely pays attention to the membership process, paperwork, though he coughs up the gil for his part of the membership fee. And, of course, two pairs of climbing shoes.

"Look," Azem says, "if I can drink coffee, you can climb this wall with me."

Hyth cocks his head at him. "Not at all comparative."

But he accepts the shoes pushed into his arms, which is good. Because they're already paid for.

With that done, it's time to hit the wall. Enthusiastically Azem runs through a series of stretches and then methodically tapes up his fingers for better grip. 

Grins over at his friend. 

"Beat you to the top!"

Despite the taunt, they both move slowly. Gradually scaling up several flat, vertical planes with general ease. What Azem lives for, that starting burn in the back of his calves, quick calculation needed where next to reach, what rock to grab at in order to ascend further.

Far below them, crash pads and spotters keep watch but Azem's form is strong, solid. He hugs the wall, shifting sideways in order to continue climbing. Glances down where Hyth is somewhere behind him, yet doggedly following.

"Hope you're not scared of heights," he calls down. Smiles at the returned chuckle.

They climb a while longer, until even Azem starts feeling the strain really set in. Move on to some weights, with Hyth as his spotter. Encouraging him through reps, exchanging weights for the next size up when needed, and generally being every bit the doting boyfriend he claims to be.

Maybe somewhere in there, as the days pass by, Azem forgets they're even supposed to be pretending.

* * *

The next drink Hyth presents Azem with, after another gym excursion and mad dash through sudden drizzle back to Hyth's apartment, comes in a small shot glass.

Emet meets them under the apartment's awning, as agreed.

He seems much more pleased with his usual sugary treat and punnable coffee (the lonely carpenter is sad when he can't get lathed) sharpied on the back of a styrofoam cup here, than Azem. And the shot glass.

It's so innocuous. Tiny. Azem still squints at it. He _remembers_.

Hyth takes a seat at the table across from them. Plops his elbow on its surface, cheek in palm and huffs.

"The elegant celebrant. It won't bite."

Azem tosses it back and. Wheezes. It _does_ bite. With a vengeance. Hot, hot, spicy hot and _literally_ nothing else!

Emet helpfully pounds his back until the coughing fit settles.

"Did you put pure hot sauce in this?!" Azem warily accepts a glass of milk, eyeing it like there might be death lurking in its depths too.

"I believe," Emet says, "you were supposed to sip that."

"Whose side are you on?"

Hyth interrupts them before they can get into a quarrel, sliding another drink over. Normal sized mug this time. Nothing suspicious about it. Except the name.

Chestnut chastisement.

Azem makes a face, but brings the mug up for a taste. Pauses. Then takes another. Mildly nutty. Sort of pleasant.

"Still don't like coffee. This one though," he nods, raising the mug, "it's all right. But you're fucking with me on these names. Admit it."

Hyth shrugs one shoulder but the twinkle in his eyes all but confirms it. So does Emet's long suffering sigh.

"He figured it out," Hyth says, oh so innocently, pushing up from the table. "You know what that means, dear."

What he puts in front of Emet is hard to describe not because he keeps it hidden from either of them. Each thermos retrieved from the refrigerator is helpfully labeled and dated. And Hyth cheerfully unscrews one after another, pouring into an empty mug. The over caffeinated majestic as a bottom layer. Filled in with mostly chestnut chastisement in the middle. And last, but certainly not least, more than a splash of the celebrant to top it off.

"I can warm it up for you," Hyth offers, pushing it over, "don't think it'll really make a difference."

Azem doesn't know whether to be offended; they apparently bet on his observational skills. Vindication wins out in the end. Emet suffers right along with him. Maybe even worse.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! :O 
> 
> This might be the longest, mostly coherent thing I've ever written and tbth most of feels like a fever dream I scribbled at 4 am because that's mostly what I did.
> 
> Bookclub link I always forget: https://discord.gg/ME4eAEt

Things are going well. Great even. Classes preceding a pace, Azem maintaining his weekly workout goals. Spending more and more time with Emet and Hyth even outside the coffee shop.

He isn't exactly sure what to call this tenuous thing developed between the three of them. It sure feels like a thing, though, more than just friendship at this point.

Lingering glances. Things left unsaid. All this circling, frankly, drives Azem up a tree. It's gone on long enough. He doesn't get a chance to act on this frustration, of course. As with all good things, there's something equally and proportionally awful waiting in the wings to strike.

A gas leak. Of all the things. For once in their short time of knowing each other, Azem thanks the twelve Emet never goes to sleep before two in the morning. At least.

Leaves them shivering out on the front lawn in the middle of the night. After contacting the proper authorities, shutting the gas off, they can't stay at the apartment. Not without heat, frost still on the ground, and the possibility of lingering gas.

Azem leans on every other friend he knows. Even the kind of distant, sort of not really "we say hello whenever we see each other, and I have your number from that one group project" but don't really _talk_ variety. Anyone who picks up is out on the town, enjoying themselves. At least Azem thinks they're enjoying themselves. The thrum of bass in the background is a little too loud to hear much of any conversation.

After the third failed attempt, Emet pulls out his phone, turning away from Azem as he dials a number. He hugs himself with his free arm, shoulders hunching in against the chill. Paces to keep warm.

"Hey. Did I wake you?" He sighs, pacing some more. Explains the situation as quickly as possible, asking if they can crash for the night. "Thanks, Hyth."

Azem draws up close enough to his side to catch a glimpse of his phone before he shuts it off again. Is that? Emet scowls when he snatches it out of his hands.

It _is_.

"That's, that's kind of cute, Emet. Where did you find that?"

A little plated coffee cup emoji graces the end of Hyth's name in Emet's contact information. Azem backs out of his roommate's irritated swipes for his stolen phone, scrolling up instead. And a little rain cloud after his own, at the top of the list, which still surprises him enough that Emet snatches the device out of his hands before he can react.

"I'm going to delete them," he grumps.

Azem shoves his hands in his pockets as they make their way over to Hyth's address.

"Oh come on, I'm just teasing. You know I've always just been teasing, right?"

Emet looks at him strangely for a moment, but says nothing. Turns away. Azem frowns. Letting the tension build again, and he doesn't like it. They walk a while longer before Azem can no longer take it.

"You can't think I have a better chance with him than you do, man."

There, said it. Put it out in the open. Sure, they're missing the third part of this undefined geometric shape of theirs. But it's no longer unsaid. 

Emet stops walking. Wheels around, crossing his arms maybe both against the cold and echoing the irritation in narrowing eyes.

"Seriously," Azem continues, "he knows your coffee order by heart. Who else gets those little jokes on the back of their cup?"

"You," Emet says. Doesn't miss a beat.

Ok, so touche. Azem didn't think that one through.

"Well, what about the week he spent making you donuts?" Azem raises an eyebrow, daring him to contradict him. "Tortured me with his 'concoctions' while being sweet on you in a frilly pink apron."

The memory of that garment still makes Emet cough, delicately. 

"Only tortured you? I remember how that week ended."

Yes, with appropriate and justified vengeance. Also, chestnut chastisement seems to have since joined The Grind House's menu. Though obviously under a new name.

"You both bet on me! You deserved it!"

Emet doesn't so much as crack a smile.

"You asked him to be with you," he says. Simply. Somberly. A little miserably. "You asked him, Azem. And he said yes."

It doesn't seem to matter to him Azem distinctly remembers prefacing that request with the word 'fake,' indicating it wasn't real. Most people understood the difference. Most people weren't Azem's stubborn ass roommate. Sometimes he really hates his inability to read a room.

"I'm sorry." It feels lacking, but what else can Azem really say?

Emet lets out a long, drawn out breath. "Yeah."

And that's that. They make the rest of the trip in absolute silence.

* * *

If Hyth notices the tension between the two of them when he opens the door, he's either polite enough not to comment or attributes it to the gas leak. He leads them in through the apartment where there's already blankets and a pair of pillows on the couch, rumpled like someone laid on them recently.

It's only as he leads them straight past it and gestures they should follow him upstairs that Azem realizes it was probably Hyth lying in that improvised bed.

"Little spur of the moment," Hyth is saying, yawning, "but I just washed all the bedding a few days ago. You two can sleep on top of the comforter if you want. Sure we have some spare blankets around here somewhere."

He pushes the door to the left open and flicks on the light. Azem and Emet are greeted with a small room, generally the same as both of their own. Plain beige walls, but someone's taken the time to put up a number of colorful posters and postcards. 

Places from around the world, buildings familiar to Azem by sight but not name. And many more, numerous drawings of all sorts. Doodles and sketches pinned to a bulletin board along with a work and class schedule. The mascot from The Grind House pokes out at Azem here and there around the room, accompanied by it's customary speech bubble. 

Typical college furniture - a bed, desk, dresser. Almost all a little cluttered with an assortment of coffee and architecture themed trinkets that give the room a homey feel. 

Hyth's room.

"I'm fine with the couch, don't worry about it. One night on the lumpy thing won't kill me."

Hyth kneels by the dresser, opening a drawer and digging around in its contents while continuing to talk to a bewildered Azem and Emet.

"Bathroom's down the hall to your right, third door. But don't worry about waking Pash and Nabs up. They either sleep like the dead or, heh, aren't sleeping." 

Hyth looks over his shoulder at his friends, pulling blankets out of the drawer. 

"On second thought...try not to go in their rooms. I'm not responsible for what you see."

Azem blinks. "What?"

Green eyes shift from his face to Emet's equally blank features. Hyth climbs to his feet, taking a seat on his bed. He raises an eyebrow.

"They're together? Doing the horizontal mambo? Amorous congress? Bit of aggressive cuddling? They fuck, guys. My roomates like to fuck each other."

"I might have gone my entire life without knowing that," Emet groans.

Hyth shrugs, tossing Azem the blankets.

"No, no, it's not that. I meant this." Azem waves his hand around the room. "Why are you giving us your room? We're the guests here."

Another look between the two of them, like Hyth's trying to figure out what joke they're not letting him in on.

"You're not together then?"

Uh...Azem turns to Emet, who looks over at him at the same time. Them? Together? It's not like they're super like, close, that way. Or anything. Just because Azem worries about Emet's health and sometimes makes him coffee for a hug. Or the fact Emet lets Azem hang all over him, if he wants. And that little rain cloud emoji.

Huh.

Azem chuckles nervously, rubbing the side of his head. That can't be right. Right? Even Godbert saw right through them.

"If we were together," he says, "then why would I ask you to be my fake boyfriend? Why would you say yes?"

Hyth smiles. Just cocks a thumb at Emet.

"Sorry, dear, but a strong wind would blow you over. Mr. Manderville is a...peculiar sort."

"I might be offended," says Emet, "if I didn't agree."

One of his biggest reasons not to workout the first time Azem brought up the subject. But the very reason Azem argued he should, and back and forth until Emet eventually gave up.

Well anyway, it's not like it matters. Emet's had a thing for Hyth far longer than Azem. And whatever he and his roommate are, Azem wants his friends to be happy.

Wait. Why are they both staring at him like that? Hyth blinking in surprise, turning to face a frustrated Emet. 

"Is this true?"

Oh. Oh, _shit_. They're treated to a theatre production of Emet opening and closing his mouth on no sound. Wringing his hands together.

"...Perhaps."

"Perhaps? Perhaps! He's literally in your phone directory under a coffee cup emoji!"

Hyth makes a curious noise somewhere between a giggle and a snort, burying his mouth into a fist. Shoulders shaking. Looks sincerely embarrassed it escaped, but pulls out his own phone and quickly finds whatever he's searching.

"My little alien."

The softest, tilted head smile for Emet, whose name appears in his listings alongside a purple space invader. 

Oh, no. It's the stupidest, most endearing shit Azem's ever seen. Which makes it even worse Hyth absently scrolls up a bit further and there's Azem's number, followed by a smiling sun. The same little design he doodles on the back of Azem's teas. And the rare coffee he'll order off the menu now and again at the shop these days.

Hyth clears his throat, faintly blushing. "I've ah, always gotten a little too easily attached."

Oh. 

_Oh._

"So, you're saying," Azem loops a finger to indicate the three of them, because he wants to be clear, "you're saying we're in a three-way now?"

This makes Hyth's shoulders start shaking again, laughter escaping his clasped hands in front of his mouth while Emet chokes on his own saliva. And Azem wonders if maybe, just maybe, they've been in said three-way for some time and just never realized it.

Seems to be on brand.

* * *

After some more fumbling and teasing conversation, they manage to convince Hyth he shouldn't have to give up his bed to his friends. Boyfriends? That's what they are now, huh. What follows is a hunt for all the spare blankets and pillows in the house to make the floor as comfortable as possible. Bed down for the night. 

In the morning, Azem puts in the call to take care of any remaining problems at their apartment. Though it seems like the flurry of activity as they left last night means they're free to return home in a couple hours.

So he goes downstairs to join the others. All four of them are there. Emet seated in an armchair and staring moodily at Nabs, near Hyth on the couch. Pash leaning in the threshold of the kitchen. 

Nabs over dramatically hugs Hyth around the shoulders, continuing the middle of animated conversation.

"- finally got to second base! They grow up so fast."

Wiping away fake tears and everything. Real penchant for theatre. Hyth shoves him off, rolling his eyes. But all in good nature. He doesn't hide the smile curving his lips.

Pash notices Azem stepping off the landing before anyone else. But his reaction is curious. A quick, calculated glance around the room. Raised brows.

And then a coughing fit. He attracts everyone's attention the longer it continues, bending over, hand to his chest. Nabs leans over the back of the couch, catching sight of what caught him off guard. Starts cackling.

"Oh, _well_ now," he purrs at Hyth, pushing off the couch after his boyfriend's departure into the kitchen. "Both of them? You saucy minx. Remember our policy about you-know-what!"

Hyth sinks into the couch, slowly tinting pink. 

"Thanks," he calls back, a little sharp, "so helpful!"

Nabs' cheerful laughter echoes, only slightly muffled under the noise of running water.

"Don't tell me you forgot the three p's, Nabs."

More laughter, and they reappear with Nabs half draped over Pash's shoulder, pulling him along to the stairs. Everyone ignores the hand that slides around the blonde's waist, tucking into the front pocket of his pants.

"I knew I liked you, babe. Now remember you three!" Shit eating grin turned up to max. "Practice, preparation, and above all: protection!"

His cackling laughter echoes all the way upstairs, even through the opening and shutting of a door. And Hyth just buries his face in his hands. Maybe he thinks the couch might swallow him whole if he only curls into it deeply enough.

Azem joins him on the couch. Prods his shoulder. He doesn't react. Then pokes at his arms, an elbow. Finally goes in for Hyth's sides and is rewarded with signs of life.

"Ah?" Azem wriggles his fingers inches away from digging in, grinning when Hyth finally looks up.

"Azem, Azem don't -"

He breaks off into pearls of helpless laughter, Azem pressing the advantage. Emet leans back in his chair, watching the two of them roll off the couch in a breathless, tangled pile of giggling.

He is going to need so much more caffeine for this relationship.


End file.
